The understanding of a fictional world is similar to the understanding of the real world. The rules applied to the fictional world seem to be the same as the rules applied to the real world. In this sense the fictional maintains its relation to reality. Especially the distinction between the “fictional” and the “invented” world makes clear that talking about the fictional also includes reality rather than being detached from reality. I think this is interesting in the sense that the fictional arises from an experience of the real world. Theorists say that cognitively the experience of a fictional world is not treated differently than the experience of the real world. This doesn´t mean that we do not make a distinction between the two. If, for example, a description is marked as fictional, we have learned to deal with it differently than with a description which aims at being as close as possible to reality. But for the brain the narratives seen in both descriptions trigger the same attempt to reconstruct what has been described. This also touches on the question of how the fictional influences the real. For example, Niklas Luhmann found out that fictional literature from the past centuries has massively influenced the western understanding of sexuality, love and partnership.

How does this idea of fictionalization affect my perception of images and especially of photography? I recently came across a photograph in the newspaper and wondered how the accompanying article and photo credit takes reference to what I see in the image. The image depicts a street scene in the Pakistani town of Peshawar, located at the border to Afghanistan. It shows a crowded street where cars, horses and pedestrians all move in one direction towards the camera. In the middle of the image a man is standing on a horse-drawn cart. He is in a more elevated position than the people around him and he seems to be the focus of the image. This impression is emphasized by the fact that a younger man is situated just behind him, but lower in the image. Next to the carriage there are two women and two men, one of them carrying a large bag. Their faces are not in focus and so they appear as a crowd of people that rather re-directs the viewers’ attention to the man on the cart. The credit of the image, “Pakistan´s battle with militants has moved to Peshawar, a city bordering the tribal region”, is the only implication that this person may be a militant from a tribal region who just entered the city. Due to its composition, the image reminds me of a film still which triggers associations and speculations of what the complete story could be.

This image reminded me of my personal interest, when looking at photographs, to search for a message that I perceive intuitively, depending on the atmosphere and on the characteristics of the image and its contextual framework. When looking at an image, I am interested in the fictional and imaginative message of it, rather than the factual side of it. So, rather than trying to see myself as a viewer of the image who stands outside, I try to become part of it in creating possible associations and interpretations of what I see. Although I wasn´t part of the process of taking the image, I can be part of the process of reading the image. Therefore how one interacts with it, abstracts and interprets its information can be seen as an attempt to open the image and to continue a process of the past and of a seemingly determined story.

In the introductory essay in ‘Untitled (Experience of Place)’ Jan Verwoert looks at Bolanski´s piece ‘Archive’, conceived for Documenta 8, and writes about the potential of fictionalizing images that are not clearly identified in terms of origin, author, subject, time and also in terms of the selection and juxtaposition of images. He also talks about the viewers’ impossibility to clarify these questions which leads the viewer to concentrate even more on how he/she understands the image rather than trying to discover the specificities of the image itself. In relation to place and territory Verwoert states: “The act of taking a photo turns us into visitors, even tourists (of our own presence). (…) It always resembles the act of scratching on a solid surface. The look through the camera reinforces the position of the individual on the site of the set. On the other hand it alienates the subject from the place he/she photographs. The view of the place is ‘subjectified’ and ‘objectified’ at the same time.

The photograph always retains the status of empirical data awaiting interpretation. This is the truly radical way in which photography is dispossessed in its time. The process in which a photograph is subjected to re-contextualization is open-ended. Verwoert also writes that the photograph will always be used for interpretation. Its caption is never inscribed into the image, it́´s always outside the image (in the modes of its distribution and reception). It can never be converted into certified data.”

While I was based in London I became interested in how housing developments are encountered in everyday situations such as driving or walking through the city and, parallel to this, the public discussion revolving around these buildings. The presence of public housing estates became a big issue because, on one hand, they represent a long lasting problematic social situation, while on the other hand, they serve as a huge potential for the property market (especially because of an ongoing privatization and redevelopment of former council estates). This can also be seen in the images that exist in this context, playing an influential role within the discussion.

As part of a public debate on “living”, journalistic images often draw the attention to more problematic situations in order to create a public discourse about this reality. They show socially deprived areas, crime sites, etc. These images often depict places in a quite detailed manner in order to reinforce the authenticity and factuality of a place.

On the other hand there are photographs that are less dedicated to detail, concentrating more on the atmosphere and potential of a place. They could be read and are sometimes even used as an answer to the questions raised by images that have more critical connotations. Although they refer to a real place, they simultaneously imply the possibility of new and future experiences.

They are photographs that are used politically and economically to illustrate the need for new urban developments, like photographs of politicians in conversation with architects and residents, architectural photographs of new buildings for magazines, aerial photographs of settlements showing the visionary idea of a “new landscape”, photographs of interiors taken by estate agents to promote properties, photographs shown on developers websites to suggest their responsibility towards the residents and society, photographs of royals or politicians visiting sites and expressing their belief in a better future, photographs of the demolition of socially deprived housing estates or of regenerated estates, that are then used as examples for the handling and solution of social problems. It́´s a variety of images that is published on websites, in books, magazines and newspapers that all revolve around the idea of housing.

What interests me in this material is that photography is mostly used to show the potential for a better future. It́ s used to promote a place we don´t know yet. In this case photography is used to fictionalize a place, to create a fictional and possible future in a still unknown environment. I also find this situation interesting in regard to how we deal with it in an everyday context. These photographs are not marked as fictional; they are marked as documents of a reality even if they are intended to be perceived differently.

Photographs taken and used by estate agents are a good example for this. Most of these photographs show very fragmented and even abstract images of apartments, office spaces or houses. As such their prior intention is not to document the architecture or features that might give a more detailed insight into a place. They rather tend to create an image that reduces the place to a few symbolic characteristics that can immediately be associated with a more generalized idea of comfort, allowing the projection and imagination of a possible future. The subjective wide-angle perspective and low-key technology, for example, are used to provide this quality in images.

Excerpt from the talk Fictionalization of Place,
Gregor Neuerer, Bergen National Academy of the Arts
March 7, 2008

Retouch, from French: retouche = subsequent improvement or embellishment. Toucher means to touch, explore, feel with one’s fingers. Viewing is a series of illustrations, clippings from various books on architecture and urban planning, visibly redone in retouch paint.

Housing projects that were accomplished in Great Britain in the late 1950s or early 1960s, and have remained a controversial issue to the present day, same as Le Corbusier’s Unités d’Habitation, had a prominent advocate in Reyner Banham, a theoretician of architecture who endorsed a modern, international building style and rejected the picturesque English concept of quiet neighbourhoods. Banham promoted authenticity, especially in the processing of the building material, which was often reinforced concrete, demanding that it should be treated “as found”. Even though tower blocks did appropriate many innovative ideas, for example those of the English green-city movement, which made it possible to create housing space that was badly needed through carefully reflected ground plans, they were often met with scepticism. It was primarily the height and the sheer mass of the building complexes, as well as their brutalist appearance, that were seen as the cause of social problems, rather than their expression.

Science-fiction author J. G. Ballard, who was impressed by the epochal exhibition This is Tomorrow, largely co-authored by Banham himself, nevertheless painted a rather gloomy vision of the future in his book High-Rise, a dystopian scenario describing the social structure of a skyscraper. Its tenants, increasingly receding into animal patterns of behaviour, had their only contact with the outer world in the form of daily television news, which were of a rather dubious veracity. Moreover, they were read out by an announcer who lived in the same building.

Even though it has been long established that a photograph is more than an objective – machine-like – capture of the moment, namely a longer process, susceptible to errors and moreover determined by multiple social and cultural encodings and iconological prejudice – photography is still considered a medium of evidence. It is as such that it was used in illustrations that Gregor Neuerer’s Viewing is based on. They construct the picture of a safe future, with homes that are adequate and accessible to all. The evidential power of a photograph, which allegedly captures the past, has such a durable impact that it can even serve as a document for future projections. In fact, it is less about the represented building projects and more about their legitimation and about removing the unpredictable aspect of a social experiment, which the housing projects on this scale have always implied.

If retouch commonly serves the purpose of doing away with errors or accentuating the overall impression, in Gregor Neuerer’s Viewing something has been added. It is the abstract blots of paint, grey on grey, and fine lines that follow the given theme, cling to it, overwrite it, and thereby considerably alter its semantics. The series shows oddly isolated persons in undefined spaces. They lean forwards and gaze at something, very focused, that escapes the attention of the observer and can only be perceived in contours under the layer of paint. We are deprived of viewing the architectural models or constructed architecture of the British post-war period, with which Gregor Neuerer has been dealing with again and again.

Viewing shows no architecture whatsoever, but that is precisely what awakens our interest, revealing what has been latently set up in the photographs and should actually be transposed beyond the mere depiction of a tour around the place. Retouch directs the gaze to the staged gestures of showing and to the posing of the photographed persons, who represent their positions rather than themselves. Above all, it focuses the attention to their hands, which seem to be engaged in some spiritualistic ritual. Hands can have a soothing effect, for example in the laying on of hands, or in washing hands before a medical treatment – it can instil trust, but below the surface it can also point to something quite the opposite, to washing one’s hands of responsibility.

The posture, gesticulation, and mimic of architects, planners, and politicians are often taken from historical depictions, where military leaders and generals lean over their war maps, but at the same time it lacks (with one exception) the same exaggerated expression of heroism. It was already Voltaire who distinguished between heroes and men of importance, and for some time after the war nobody wanted to be associated with heroism. Viewing shows civilians facing a great task, which requires an effort that equals that of a General Headquarters. Since Gregor Neuerer has taken away their accessories and social attributes, such as ties and jewellery, they seem almost uncertain, clumsy. Focusing on their body language allows them to act more humanly, more individually. Nevertheless, they remain in their role, appropriate for the time-period, which is mostly that of a man acting with decision.

In 1977, Louise Lawler and Sherrie Levine wrote on a postcard: “His Gestures moved us to tears” over the line saying “A Picture is no substitute for anything” – as a critique of the gestural and expressive painting of male action painters, which they considered an empty posing. Contrary to that, in Viewing appropriation does not mean approaching the colleagues in rivalry or erasing the existing artworks, as was the case with Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning. Instead, it explores the context and the use of found photographs of architecture.

Since retouch has also deprived the depicted persons of their reference within the photographs, it intensely raises the question of the off, the hors-champ of the photos, which – unlike in cinema – does not exist or we cannot know it. At least it has been completely blended out through the image excerpt. However, it is hinted by the picture frames covered with wall paint, reminiscent of the most popular range of colours in social housing at that time, which reproduce an embellished image of the atmosphere through sonorous names such as Drama White or Java Red. Apart from these pastel shades, Viewing does not offer any additional information on the situation in which the photographs were taken, since there are no captions to the pictures. But this lack of relation or place establishes new levels of association, which point outside of the picture: between the photographs, the exhibition space, and the recipients. Thus, it is about the political intention of published images, as well as about the politics of their use in various contexts. Retouch does not function here as an instrument of manipulation, but rather as a possibility of discussing the altered ways of using the image.

Referring to the home in 17th century Netherlands architectural historian Jonathan Hill writes: “A recurring theme in architectural history states that the home is the origin and the archetype of architecture, the manifestation of its most important attributes. Borrowing Simon Schama´s thesis in the ‘Embarrassment of the Riches’, Philip Tabor concludes that the 17th century Netherlands are crucial to the development of ideas and images to the contemporary home: As far as the idea of the home is concerned, the home of the home is the Netherlands. This idea´s cristalization might be dated to the first three quarters of the 17th century when Dutch Netherlands amassed an unprecedented and unrivalled accumulation of capital, and emptied their purses into domestic space’.

With its emphasis on easy comfort and the accumulation of personal possessions, the contemporary home is aesthetically similar to the Dutch 17th century home. Other similarities are the size of the family accommodated and the separation of home from business. Home is one place that is considered to be truly personal. Home always belongs to someone. It is supposedly the most secure and stable of environments, a vessel for the personal identity of its occupant(s), a container for, a mirror of, the self. But the concept of home is also a response to the excluded, unknown, unclassified and inconsistent. Home must appear stable because social norms and personal identity are shifting and slippery. It is a metaphor for a threatened society and a threatened individual. The safety of the home is really the sign of its opposite, a certain nervousness, a fear of the tangible or intangible dangers inside and outside.

The Netherlands, much of which lies below sea-level, have a perilously elastic envelope separating the homeland from sea, a condition which has impressed into the individual Dutch soul a paranoiac anxiety to defend an inhabited interior (the self) from a menacing exterior…. This paranoia, if such it was, was distilled into cultural form by the stupendous pictures of domestic interiors of the time: one thinks especially of Pieter de Hooch and Johannes Vermeer. It is certainly astonishing how ‘interior’ these interiors are… drawing us into their intimacy and security. (…)That the exterior is absent from so many 17th century paintings indicates the threat is represented.

Generally, anxieties are expressed in the desire to erect and maintain spatial and temporal boundaries. Strong boundary consciousness can be interpreted as a desire to be in control and to exclude the unfamiliar because the unfamiliar is a source of unease rather than something to be celebrated. David Sibely argues, however, that while the apparent stability of the home may provide gratification it can also, simultaneously, create anxiety because the security and spatial purification the home offers can never be fully achieved”. Jonathan Hill: ‘Weather Architecture’, in ‘Untitled (Experience of Place)’.

Simon Sheikh: I would like to begin with the title of the exhibition, A Stolen Moment, and think about the notion of time that it implies. In terms of language, a stolen moment indicates something clandestine, even illegal, as well as something temporal, even though we do not use the phrase that way in the vernacular. Perhaps, the stolen moment is something that you take back from somewhere, that you recover from the humdrum of everyday life, freeing potential time from the capitalization of time, we could perhaps say with Eric Alliez. It is in a sense a moment outside time, putting time as production on hold. It is a moment for care of the self, for reflection or blackout, a suspension of time. I think that this is what is at play in the film One Minute For Yourself: the staging of movements articulating a stolen moment (a contradiction in terms, obviously). The same applies to the two photographic series. The images in the film refer to this activity or notion, and can also be found in its materiality – film consists of a number of still images, suspensions of time, put in (accelerated) sequence – which is even more clear in the method of photography itself, capturing a moment and freezing a movement into an image. Photography (and film) can also by seen as stolen moments.

Gregor Neuerer: I think of a stolen moment as an aspect or phenomenon that accompanies a captalized environment rather than as conciously subversive behaviour. Recently, in a conversation with a friend, I found out that the expression ‘un moment volé’ is used for daydreaming in French. I think it’s interesting that, as a moment, it implies a defined period of time, although in the sense of an economic understanding of time it remains undefined. We don’t know for what reason this time is spent, when it’s spent, how regularly, and who the persons are who spend stolen moments, nor how these moments relate to our everyday life and schedule. It indicates that on one hand a daily routine and schedule exist and on the other hand there is an exception that lets us leave this routine.

In the context of the exhibition, I applied this idea to the City of London, London’s financial district, as a working environment, which corresponds entirely to the hierarchy of financial markets. I therefore also understand a stolen moment as the idea of the “undefined”, the “unpredictable” or the “abstract” inside a supposedly determined and controlled environment. Thinking of the City of London, a stolen moment can both be applied to a temporal and spatial reality. When one leaves a building or the place where one works in order to escape from existing interior conditions, one easily falls, as a consumer, into the next predetermined role. It seems that there is hardly any place that can be described as a “stolen place” in the sense of a stolen moment – a place that provides the opportunity or is designed to leave the daily routine of everyday life for a moment. It’s probably not an abandoned corner or the backyard of a building but rather the way environmental elements are used and experienced. The perspective of use creates an alternative understanding of a site and a moment. I’m interested in the politics of the notion of a stolen moment, through which dynamics it occurs, what role the environment and the individual’s experience play, and how does this moment comprise its own narration?

Simon Sheikh: Speaking of narration: what story is told in your imaging of stolen moments? Could one say that you are also stealing moments, acts or routines, and taking them outside of their initial context, suspending them? In other words, what would be the politics of these images vis-a-vis the politics implied in the moments pictorialized, considering the notion of place and behaviour that you are mentioning – the difference between design and usage as well as the momentality, or eventuality of the new environment or the new place. This is on one level the place of representation and visuality, and on another the exhihibition space, a specific place with its specific order(s) and potential(s).

Gregor Neuerer: I see the built environments as a network of decisions: how a building should function, what it should represent, how its idea can be planned and realised. Its planning process requires hypothesis and speculation on how people will behave, move, and feel inside the possible future building. In a temporal sense it’s a fictional plan for a future reality that is based on the assumtion that people will adapt to their new surroundings. In a society of disciplines, a building process, even if it affects public space, is led, to a large extend, outside a communal discussion involving individual viewpoints and experiences. Instead, these decisions are part of the discipline of urban planners, contractors, architects, lawers, and the commissioning company. What I find remarkable is – even if it’s an everyday reality – that process ends in a built and seemingly eternal structure. Most people who interact with a building, in whichever way, won’t have any influence on this process and will accept the fact that they are only able to experience it from the perspective of the user.

Someone’s experience as someone’s surroundings is not the story of a specific person, that can be recognised in the traces and leftovers. It’s about the behaviour of different people who comprehend this given space beyond its initial intention. As a result of seemingly voluntary decisions they regularly return to the same places, behave in a similar way and thereby form concentrated spots of usage. It’s layers of stories by people that appear as fragments of a collective experience. The photographs depict these situations in the context of the buildings’ design. They themselves are fragments in a temporal as well as in a spatial sense, creating an environment inside the gallery space. I later arranged the places according to their geographical position within the City of London rather than according to the tracks I followed when I was working on the project. This leads to a fictional route through the area that can be read as a map.

Simon Sheikh: So there is a relationship between the notion of the walker and the notion of the storyteller, ie. between walking and narrating, between walking and mapping. But how much of this activity is a mirroring, and how are such mirrorings fictionalized. I mean, arguably, photography has a relationship to the indexical as much as the symbolical, that is as much to mirroring as to symbolization. However, the fragments that you talk about, some notion of excavation as well as fictionalization, seem to indicate some sort of impossibility, some sort of cul-de-sac, not just for representation (of experience, history, subjectivity), but also for reading, for the viewer’s identification. Are you trying to place the viewer on the same track as the wanderer, and it that case, which one? The depicted usage of a city dweller, that is the fragments and indexes, or the depicting usage of the photograher/chronicler/artist?

Gregor Neuerer: I wanted to create an incomplete story by using abstract and fragmental elements. Though I don’t see the work as abstract in the sense of abstract art since all the images and elements I show refer to a specific everyday context. It’s more precisely an interest in the potential of architectural elements, of the traces of usage on their surface, and of the photograph – all visual elements that confront us with fragmented and incomplete information as remains of past events. Even if they are all embedded in a new reality, in which we interact with them, we tend to fictionalize them at the same time. I think it’s not possible to avoid a fictionalization of what we see. So I see the process of reading an environment both as an experience as well as a process of fictionalization. In this sense the work is a scenario that makes its subject the gap between the perspective of taking a photograph and the perspective of viewing a photograph, the gap between producing an image and interacting with its visible result. It’s a setting where both perspectives influence the (exhibition) space they occupy.

Simon Sheikh: In the works in the exhibition you are dealing with a double notion of representation in architectural forms. On the one hand, with (corporate) buildings as signs, as representations of power and money. And on the other hand, you are exploring these signs as empty signifiers, seeing the glass facades as projection screens from the outside as well as from the inside, so to speak. A space for deferals as well as reflections and projections. Can you talk about this double sense of representation, but also of the difference in the gazes directed at the architectural surfaces, and the creases and gaps within and between them?

Gregor Neuerer: In the series of photographs entitled Someone’s experience as someone’s surroundings, I approach architecture as both a spatial structure through which the individual is directed, and as a more abstract platform. The individual approach from within tends to perceive the structure as abstract details or fragments whose purpose and meaning are influenced by individual experiences. In connection to a job I spent some time in the City of London and had the chance to see how I and other people deal with architectural elements that surround them. I realised that the temporary position of oneself inside a slightly less temporary environment seems to make the questioning of existence of this environment’s existence obsolete. Instead, the question of how one’s personal understanding of a place corresponds to the way it is defined through political and spatial structures becomes more relevant. The series of photographs, which I’d rather call a collection of images that I’ve taken over a longer period of time, traces a structure that exists parallel to and within the City’s spatial layout. This structure of usage forms a kind of subtext to an environment based on economic parameters.

In the context of the exhibition’s architectural intervention, with its ceiling, carpet and vertical blinds, I used the elements to extend the environment of the office, with its computers, drawers, files and regular working hours. Inside the exhibition space as a viewing room, they become abstract signifiers, as you mention, whose mode of use and future destination remain unclear.

Simon Sheikh: There is, as we know from the writings of Michel de Certeau, and indeed from our own physical experiences and interactions with city space, always a difference between the intention of the city planners and architects, and the daily usage of the city’s inhabitants. We can talk of the correlations and differences between urbanity and subjectivity: here, the production of space leads to the production of (certain) subjectivities, of possibilities and impossibilities. Life in-between the buildings and streets of the city can be seen as a constant negotiation of a double language, spoken through the buildings and through the body. Neither seems to run smoothly, however. There are impasses, intersections, redirections, residues, surpluses and misunderstandings as the subjects constantly struggle to mediate and understand their (urban) condition. But in your images, you are also referring to economic pressures on the subject, not just through the architecture, but also through time. The lack of free space, so to speak, corresponds to the lack of free time within corporate architecture and capital time. And here I would like to return to the notion of photography itself, of what you call ‘a collection of images’, implying that there could be many more, as stolen moments. I am wondering if you are attempting a visualization of time (as control and resistance) as much as a visualization of corporate structures and subjectivity? I am here also struck by the fact that the cars – presumably the vehicles transporting the subjects in between the buildings back to other spatial arrangements, homes in suburbia – all are depicted as parked, as immobile. Is there, in your work, a correlation between time – stolen moments – and the immobilization of the pictures, a politics of time rather than a politics of the image?

Gregor Neuerer: The temporal aspect I deal with in A Stolen Moment, relates to corporate surroundings in a similar way as the moment of taking a photograph relates to time and history. The situation described in the photographs, i.e. a trace of usage becoming visible on an architectural surface, corresponds to the influence of light on photographic film. In both cases the consequent result is a temporal and spatial fragment. It’s an abstract period of time that stands, as you mention, in contrast to an economic and predetermined understanding of time – an abstract duration that appears as part of a corporate environment, but whose beginning and possible end remain undefined.

I think we often grasp a place as a fragment. So, the usage of space and time, as it’s seen in the usage of city space, can be seen as an experience of fragments which are used outside their initial context. That’s also how I see the role of the photographs in relation to the depicted places. I tried to translate the environment of the City into an environment consisting of a series of photographs which are themselves fragments in terms of time as well as in terms of space. I regard them as images that contribute to possible future and fictive narratives.

In regard to the cars the photographs capture a similar state as in Someone’s experience as someone’s surroundings. I think the images also refer to a period of time (in this case how long the cars are parked), but this period is not a moment in the sense of a portrait. It’s a moment that will last a certain period of time, although it’s unclear how long. In this sense it is a static situation (such as a building) but it implies a possible change in the future. I think the immobility of the photograph, as you call it, depicts these moments as static and eternal situations, but the information on the image proves the opposite.

Simon Sheikh: Do you see the difference between the static and the moving as information, experience, or even erkenntnisse!, as something lying outside the image? That is, that the image is always false, since the freeze-frame, as it is, is only a fragment and a deceitful perception in the sense that it does not correspond to the phenomenology of perception, which is always involved and in flux? In this sense, again, every picture may tell a story, but it may also not tell any story, nor lead anywhere, and that direction, then, becomes the work of fiction. Are you trying to contrast the fictional urge with the documentary and narrative imperatives with truth regimes? A sort of short-circuit of photography as representation?

Gregor Neuerer: I think, from the perspective of the viewer, a photograph functions similarily to a building, even though a photograph is probably mostly understood as something more indexical than a building. We also speak of documentary photography rather than of documentary architecture. But a building is as much a document as a photograph. A built structure that has been created for inhabitation mediates more clearly that it can be adapted or fictionalized. In contrast, an image, and especially a photograph, is less seen as an object of fictionalization. The reason for this might be found in the mechanical or electronic method of image production in contrast to a custom-made building. But from the perspective of the viewer, both appear as static elements while oneself is mobile. I think this viewpoint makes it possible to deconstruct an image and to regard it as an element of interaction. In this sense the story that begins in a photograph will possibly not end there.

I think it’s also difficult to describe a critical perspective on photography while using photographs at the same time. But this is nevertheless what I try to do. I try to use the images in a way that corresponds to my experience of the world, whether in the moment of taking a photograph or in the moment of displaying it. In terms of the idea of the stolen moment, I try to use the images in a similar way, namely as moments that mark an abstract time inside an economic understanding of time.

Gregor Neuerer, Parallel to what I know
Artist book in conjunction with the installation Gregor Neuerer, Parallel to what I know, Künstlerhaus Thurn und Taxis, Bregenz / Austria, 2007.
mail@gregorneuerer.net